Imagine a prison formed from flesh and skin
A place you could never escape from or invite anyone in
Confined to a sick bed watching the world from above
Wondering in misery if you’ll ever find love
This was Frida’s fate just a young pretty girl
Who had aspirations and dreams this shiny new pearl
In the darkest of hours she fought with unbearable pain
Disturbing images and anguish played over in her brain
Yet she knew her spirit was able to fly
She opened up her heart and closed her ears to the lies
With broken bones clamped together from her pelvis to her neck
She created from her soul her truth and allowed the paintbrush to reflect
Though her self portraits were disturbing in demeanor and theme
Profound in raw beauty her body depicted in the extreme
Noted as a revolutionary perhaps a feminist with a cause
Yet she married her Diego twice maybe one of her flaws
Her poetic form was expressive and colorful as her flowers
She adorned her hair and garden so alluring engaged in her power
In spite of her suffering Frida kept eyes her on the prize
“Feet, why do I need you when I have wings to fly.”
©9/30/19